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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29103189">Adventures of a Mer-Chaser: Anoriath’s Last Hunt</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyScrolls/pseuds/DirtyScrolls'>DirtyScrolls</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Character Death, Dark Brotherhood Questline, M/M, Masturbation, Memory Related, Murder, Necrophilia, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Touching, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, dead mer can't say "yes", look at the title and faction and turn back if you don't want dead Bosmer porn, no really I mean it this time</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:48:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,944</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29103189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyScrolls/pseuds/DirtyScrolls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragonborn takes time to remember a fun contract.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anoriath/Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>279</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Adventures of a Mer-Chaser: Anoriath’s Last Hunt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Please, for the love of the Eight, the Nine, or the Three, read the tags.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kordin liked to take time, during his stops at the Sanctuary, to relax among his trophies and to remember particularly pleasurable kills.</p><p>Some kills had been pleasurable because they were difficult or important—he still had the jewelry he had taken off the Emperor. Though Tonilia had offered a fair price for it, he had ultimately decided to keep it as a souvenir. </p><p>Astrid’s blade hung on his weapons rack. </p><p>By the time the Night Mother had spoken, he had already filled a trunk in the Falkreath Sanctuary with victims’ shoes, gloves, daggers, and jewels. He probably could have taken Astrid’s place anyway. He was the only logical choice. Nazir was a highly competent secretary-treasurer and a fine chef, and seemed content in those disparate roles, Babette was always busy improving poisons or trying to invent new ones, and Cicero was—anyway, he was Cicero. </p><p>Kordin often regretted not killing him when Astrid ordered it, and not just because the Imperial was far from a bad-looking man--when he wasn’t talking or moving or wearing that hideous clown costume—and he would have made a fine indulgence. </p><p>Kordin had recruited a promising handful of new members since killing Astrid. His charming act and insistence on demonstrating the Brotherhood’s growing wealth helped. He’d invite prospects to his isolated Lakeview Manor (which he kept only for Brotherhood use, preferring to stay mostly in cities)  and serve them a lavish meal, rather than snatch them away to some rickety cabin. No one had refused yet.</p><p>Most of his kills had been successes on the first try, with clean getaways. Babette and Kordin often exchanged tales over a little mead (a very little for her, as she got drunk easily), and sometimes Nazir joined in.</p><p>Some kills had been pleasurable for reasons other than bragging rights, of course. </p><p>Now, lounging on the bed in his cool stone chamber after completing a rather unmemorable job (one shot from behind a rock to the neck of an Argonian fisherman), he thought of a certain tasty elf he had been contracted to neutralize during his advancement in the Brotherhood. As he reminisced, he ran his fingers over the simple leather armor he had taken off the Bosmer’s fine little corpse, holding it to his nose, seeking a hint of the young mer’s scent. There were dark stains down the front and backs of the armor where the victim had bled out.</p><p> </p><p>It hadn’t taken him long after his arrival in Whiterun to notice the two pretty Bosmer brothers from the Market District, Anoriath and Elrindir. He’d often encountered Anoriath hawking meat, or drinking inside his brother’s shop. Ha. Ought to be selling his own flesh, too; he was such a handsome little thing--lean face and neat wiry body, sharp white teeth, well-groomed beard. His brother had golden-red hair and a haughty look. Kordin had propositioned each man at separate times and been rejected, politely. </p><p>They were amiable and businesslike in all things.</p><p>His instinct was to follow his sweet prey onto the plains when the elf took his bow out--only fresh game for the good people of Whiterun. Though the elf would be armed, he would be prepared for bears and wolves and ordinary bandits, not for Kordin’s refined stealth. Besides, it was much safer, more discreet, to take him down outside the city. Too many citizens knew Kordin by sight in Whiterun. Even some of the guards commented on the rare and expensive weapons he carried.</p><p>Safer outside Whiterun’s walls, and potentially more fun.  </p><p>He followed Anoriath, moving quickly when the man was distracted by a rabbit or bird, which was often. The elf nailed nearly every shot, which turned Kordin on. Once he missed a deer, looking almost as if something disturbed his concentration. Kordin watched him gather corpses for sale. Watched him sling them onto his back and search the brush for more.</p><p>He shot the elf through the strong, slim back, with an ebony arrow coated in a poison that slowed his body as he tried to turn, his dark glittering eyes wide with shock. Kordin then shot him in the chest, which made him stumble to his knees. He rolled onto his side, trying to breathe. Kordin aimed a last shot at his jugular. The blood blinded those dark eyes, spattered his handsome golden-brown face and streaked his beard. Anoriath clawed at his slender neck, then eventually twitched, went still.</p><p> </p><p>Sunset was already on its way as Kordin roasted one of Anoriath’s rabbits on a stick and looked over at his own scrumptious fresh kill. </p><p>He hadn’t touched him yet. He kept looking over toward the unmoving form as he guzzled mead and waited for the food to cook, his eyes picking out features on Anoriath to admire, as if on their own whim. Strong shoulders, clever slim hands, thin sharp ears. Open ebony eyes, delicately slanted. </p><p>After he had quickly eaten, and drunk enough to make him feel a welcome heat in his belly, he moved closer to the Bosmer. The dead mer was so sharp and fine, with soft-looking chestnut brown hair, warm-toned brown flesh doused in coagulating blood, and a lean, perfectly-proportioned body. Feeling more heat rise in his skin, Kordin wondered if he could even fit inside the felled hunter. His body was so much smaller than a Nord’s, a prospect which excited him. Perhaps that was why Kordin had never succeeded in finding a willing Bosmer man to take his cock in his ass. </p><p>He brought his torch over to where Anoriath lay, so he could appreciate his coloring. There was no way to think of it but “warm”, with a deep golden glow even in death. </p><p>Kordin dragged the Bosmer into the circle of his fire.</p><p>This wouldn’t be the first time this had happened.</p><p>He’d done it with bravado after battle, ignoring the remarks of his fellow Stormcloaks.</p><p>He’d heard a few of his fellow assassins talk about good-looking contracts, from wishing they could’ve spent the night first, to other things. </p><p>Gabriella telling Babette she had kissed and groped a dead Breton lord. Nazir’s satisfied attitude following the slaying of a dashing young Dunmer wizard, describing how he’d stripped him of his expensive robes—how soft the skin, how sleek the muscles. </p><p>One night, Cicero outright admitted at dinner that he’d indulged in a beautiful, mature Imperial warrior woman. Veezara had dwelt for a few moments on a pretty Nord Priest of Arkay. Then Cicero looked in an unsettling way at Nazir and reminisced about a stubborn Redguard merchant he’d gutted, with smooth skin the color of sun-warmed earth. He’d added that he didn’t think he’d like elves, but an Argonian might be novel. </p><p>Nazir had laughed at the whole thing, then said, “We’ll be sure and send you after our next Black Marsh beauty, friend. And, hey, Kordin, don’t you like elves? Not that I blame you.”</p><p>Kordin raised his tankard and nodded. </p><p>“Let’s send him to kill a nice mer,” Babette sneered cheerfully. “Give him some fun.”</p><p>“Wait’ll one comes up,” Nazir assured, patting Kordin’s shoulder. “He’ll be first in line.”</p><p> </p><p>And he had been.</p><p>So here he was, alone with Anoriath’s beautiful blood-smeared corpse, as aroused as a virgin groom. As badly as he wanted the dead man, he felt as if he were being watched, assessed. As if the stars were looking at him. As if, somehow, there were a way to do this wrong. A way to be filthier than the things already in his mind—licking his ass, sucking the limp little cock, fucking gently into him because he wouldn’t want to damage the lovely body and ruin his own pleasure.</p><p>He stroked Anoriath’s dark eyes, licked his soft eyelids.</p><p>A few gulps of mead. He could hear crickets and night animals stirring around himself and the mer. Feeding, chirruping. It was soothing.</p><p>He kissed the Bosmer eagerly. It was soft, wet, undemanding, among the best kisses he’d ever given. Silky lips, the tickle of hair, the closed sharp predator’s teeth. </p><p>He grew more aroused, kissing his prey—his prize—roughly, and nipping his brown lips. His mouth was very delicate, smaller than Kordin’s. His small knife-ears were fascinating. Kordin nibbled, broke skin, sucked slow blood, explored unabashedly with his tongue. He licked and kissed his dark tilted eyes again.</p><p>He tore the arrows from his throat and chest, the gestures almost offended, as if he hadn’t put them there. A little viscous blood trickled from the wounds. Kordin bent to taste it, paying special attention to the elf’s soft leaking throat. His prick seemed to like that as much as it liked the Bosmer’s still, brown body.</p><p>He decided to go straight for it, open the hunter’s ass. He stripped off his leather armor, baring every inch of bronzy flesh. Then he spread his legs, appreciating his small but elegant and proportional genitals, the soft prick hiding in the brown hair, the sweet little sack. The pucker was tiny and dark brown, surrounded by a small amount of similarly-colored hair.</p><p>The small beauty enticed him, made him salivate. Breathing hard, he got down between the mer’s thighs and spread his round hard cheeks, and took a moment to admire his sweet dark hole. He stroked the ridged surface of his rim and sighed. Then he leaned down and lapped at the unfeeling anus with his wet tongue, tasting old clean sweat and some unique musk. He kissed the pucker lightly as if it were the Bosmer’s tender mouth, as if he were alive. He suckled each of his balls, which fit well in his mouth, and tasted of fragrant sweat.  His soft dead cock was barely thicker than the Nord’s thick thumb, and sweet enough to eat whole. He sucked and teased it, thrilling at the elf’s lack of response. He could do whatever he wished with him.</p><p>Kordin wasn’t sure how much oil he should use on a dead Bosmer man, never having had such luck before. Anoriath looked so gods-damned tight. He coated his fingers a bit because he knew he’d need it for comfort, and he penetrated the small asshole with one finger, then eased in another, feeling the cooling tightness around him. The ring was almost uncomfortably snug around three fingers. He was afraid he’d tear him.</p><p>He’d never felt anything tighter on his prick. He held the limp body close in his arms as he shoved into the dead Bosmer ass. He tried to hold back enough not to damage the elastic but dead flesh, to pay more attention to other parts of the elf. He admired and caressed his toned limbs and torso, the perfection of his genitals and lips. He again bit his ear hard enough to break the bronzy skin. He kissed him and nuzzled his well-kept beard as he thrust slowly, patiently. He stroked his brown hair and eased off the leather thong that held it back, letting it fall around his lovely face, caressing the soft locks.</p><p>“Oh, my sweet little hunter,” he muttered, though there was no one to hear, “Great shots tonight. Bet you never knew you’d make such beautiful prey.”</p><p>He further slowed his movement inside him, kissed the small mouth again, then nipped each high pointed ear. In the lowering sun, the skin of the man he fucked was like honey, and his ass was so clenchingly tight.</p><p>No, it was too much. He bit at his neck, he thrust, he suckled, he came.</p><p> </p><p>Kordin used a rag to clean himself, then put it and the armor, which still smelled faintly of young Bosmer blood, aside.</p>
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